


Of Flowers And Pocket Squares

by adr3stia



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: At least they try, Fluff, Getting Together, How Do I Tag, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Secret Relationship, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tumblr Prompt, Very Implied, Weddings, everyone is done with enjoltaire's shit, so implied that not even i know if its there or not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adr3stia/pseuds/adr3stia
Summary: Grantaire is supposed to deliver his best man speech, and he's not exactly relaxed. Thankfully, his best friend knows exactly how to help.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	Of Flowers And Pocket Squares

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heylookitsr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heylookitsr/gifts).



> I had the idea behind this from a prompt list on Tumblr, but I'm absolutely too lazy to find it again now. It was supposed to be much shorter but, eh, we stan them gays.
> 
> A big thank you to my bestie heylookitsr, who was kind and patient enough to edit this and proofread it meanwhile trying to convince me not to delete the rest of my works. I love you so so so very much. <3
> 
> Enjoy!!

Grantaire paced up and down his hotel room, nervously fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, taking deep but useless breaths.

He picked the tie from the chair it was carefully placed on and wrapped it around his neck, attempting to stop his hands from shaking.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, taking in his unfamiliarly and, possibly, too tidy curls, the well-trimmed hint of a beard, and the utter look of panic in his eyes as he completely blanked out at the sight of his tie.

He had spent the past few days practicing for this very moment. He had looked up tutorials, following the steps almost religiously, almost every day, practicing over anything he was wearing, from the shirt he wore to sleep to an old, paint-stained button-up, sometimes even over his bare chest. Technically, he should have been able to do it on muscle memory. Instead, all he had managed to do was whimper in frustration after his fifth failed try.

He debated sending a panicked text in all caps to the "Bridesmaids" group chat, begging for someone to help him. The name had been entirely Courfeyrac's fault, and he had even added a string of flowers emojis to it, knowing that Combeferre would have had the head of whoever dared to change the group name on a platter. Husband privileges, he liked to call it. Grantaire considered it a tyranny more than anything, and Enjolras had agreed one night, while they were talking over cheap wine and microwaved ramen, but none of them had the heart to change it.

The text was halfway written when he heard a faint knock. Before he could reply, the door opened a crack, a familiar mop of blonde curls peeking inside, making Grantaire's heart flip in his chest.

"Enjolras?"

"Can I come in?" He asked, almost breathless.

Grantaire nodded slowly, confusion evident in his face. "What's up?"

He had meant it to sound casual but, as Enjolras stepped inside the room, his breath caught in his throat, and his voice came out too high-pitched. It was barely his fault - Enjolras really did look dashing in formalwear. Although, Grantaire would have said the same thing if he had been wearing quite literally anything else.

He had to mentally kick himself for letting his mind wander into dangerous, but definitely not uncharted, territory before breathing deeply and fully taking in the man in front of him. His hair was half-up, two strands of hair carefully braided on each side of his middle part and meeting in the back. Grantaire's eyes fell on the red pocket square, and he couldn't hold back a small smile. Enjolras was taking him in as well, his smile tending slightly to amusement rather than fondness.

"Something funny, Apollo?"

Enjolras chuckled. "You look very-" he waved a hand in the general direction of him, the corners of his mouth rather adorably twitching up and down in a poor attempt to hide his smile. "You look very put together, Grantaire."

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Alright, make fun of me, have at it." He opened his arms in surrender, holding his gaze as Enjolras chuckled, and he couldn't help but feel a little less annoyed.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Enjolras said, sobering up, his mouth still slightly curved upwards. "That's not why I'm here."

"Why _are_ you here, since we're on that topic?"

Enjolras shrugged, sitting on a chair nearby. "Figured you'd be panicking and would need some support. Plus, Ferre agreed that it was the best way to make sure Jehan didn't put more flowers in the braids." 

Grantaire choked on air. "More _what_ now?"

Enjolras shrugged. "They said I looked too serious, almost like I was going to a funeral and not a wedding."

"But you have the red pocket square, it breaks the black and white."

"That's exactly what I said!" Enjolras said, exasperated. "But then Courfeyrac overheard Jehan propositioning the flowered braids and, of course, the fucker loved the idea of me wearing flowers, so I did what any sane person would do when against both Jehan and Courfeyrac."

"Don't tell me you called Combeferre."

"I called fucking _Brutus_ , who is so disgustingly in love with his husband that he was all _yes, baby, I think Enjolras would look great with flowers in his hair_ , eyes all filled with love, adoration, and betrayal."

Grantaire couldn't hold back his laughter as he saw Enjolras almost pout at the mere description of the crime. "Your Combeferre impression is on point, you know?" He patted his shoulder in sympathy and examined Jehan's work closely.

"For what it's worth, it suits you. What flower is that?"

Enjolras flushed faintly. "I think it's called _gladiolus_."

Grantaire hummed. "Strength. Again, suits you."

Enjolras looked at him puzzledly. "How do you know?"

"I had this assignment for school - it's boring, and you definitely don't want to hear about it, but I needed to use flowers, and Jehan taught me a few things."

"And by that you mean they basically turned you into a florist."

Grantaire chuckled. "Precisely."

"So," Enjolras said, clasping his hands together. "Is there anything I can help you with, best man?"

Grantaire frowned at the title, as it held too many responsibilities for his taste. "Please, don't call me that. It sounds too mature, I already forced Eponine to avoid using it at all times."

Enjolras laughed. "Hey, I get it. Do you remember how I was at Courf and Ferre's wedding?"

"You mean how they fought over which one of them was going to have the honor of having you as best man of until a very hot roommate of yours suggested you became the _bestest_ man, best man of both?"

Grantaire was rewarded with an eye roll. "The very hot roommate should have just kept his mouth shut since I'm sure he remembers how much I hated it."

In response, Grantaire chuckled, his mind only mildly traveling across the seven seas for the hidden compliment. "Your eye rolls when they mentioned it during the vows were absolutely worth it."

"The headache they caused wasn't."

Grantaire lightly chuckled before Enjolras asked to help once again.

"It'd be great if you could listen while I rehearse for my speech." He gestured at the pathetic scrap of clothing over his chest. "I don't suppose you know how to do a Windsor knot, do you?"

Enjolras snorted. "I learned when I was about thirteen." At Grantaire's confused expression, he sighed. "Rich, pretentious parents, remember?"

"And they managed to force rebellious, pre-teen you into the hellish binds of a necktie?"

"They tried." Enjolras smiled deviously. "Somehow, I always seemed to misplace my ties, and, somehow, they ended up in some donation basket."

"Alright, Robin Hood," Grantaire said, turning towards the mirror. "Obi-Wan Kenobi me through this. What do I do?"

"First of all, you stop comparing me to fictional characters."

After an affectionate eye roll and a poorly concealed middle finger, Enjolras started guiding him through the steps, suspiciously eyeing the way Grantaire's hands were shaking. At his questioning gaze, Grantaire shrugged.

"You've been the bestest man, you know how it feels."

"You're going to be amazing, Taire." Enjolras deadpanned. "You're going to make everyone cry, and Combeferre is going to yell at you because it took him _hours_ to get his eyeliner right and it's going to be smudged because of your speech."

Grantaire attempted to fake a laugh, but the insincerity of it didn't go unnoticed by Enjolras.

"Alright." He said, sitting back down and motioning him to do the same. "Hit me. What's wrong?"

"This is absolutely _not_ my scene, angel. You know this." Grantaire started pacing, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and the poorly done cufflinks. "I mean, look at me. I'm supposed to deliver a speech in front of everyone and, before you say anything, I know that it's for Ep and that she would do the same for me if anyone were crazy enough to try and marry _me_ of all people _-_ "

"Taire." Enjolras said softly.

"Right, I'm rambling. Back on track." He took a deep breath and gestured towards himself. "I hate this old thing."

"It's brand new and tailored."

Grantaire simply glared as Enjolras smiled apologetically and motioned him to go on. "Look at me, angel. I look like a broke lawyer in one of those low budget law shows that you and Courf like so much. I hate how I make the suit look, I hate the way it looks on me-" He stopped talking when Enjolras stood up, walking firmly towards him. He stopped when he was right in front of him, staring at him intently as if he wanted to pin him in his spot with a look only.

It was definitely working.

Enjolras grabbed his wrists, fixing his cufflinks with methodical precision, while Grantaire prayed that he couldn't feel his quickened heart rate. He quickly did his tie, hands moving expertly over the soft fabric, and his fingers lingered on it as he raised his eyes, smiling softly. "Stop worrying." He said, holding his gaze. "You look perfect."

Grantaire looked away with a dismissive scoff, at which Enjolras tightened his hold on the tie, forcing Grantaire to look back at him. Once again, all air was punched out of his poor lungs as he stared into Enjolras' eyes.

"I'm serious, Taire. It's different from the usual, sure, but different isn't bad, believe me."

"I look stupid," Grantaire muttered, his eyes traitorously and inadvertently darting to Enjolras' lips. He was about to pull back, flustered by the action, before Enjolras mirrored it, the tip of his tongue subtly running over his bottom lip.

"I think you look beautiful."

Before he knew it, Enjolras was pulling him in by his tie, and his mouth was on his.

After a few moments, Enjolras pulled away, eyes veiled with concern. "Is this okay? I'm sorry, I should have asked-"

Before the anticipated self-lecture on consent could start, Grantaire had surged forward, connecting their lips once more. In a matter of moments, he was being pulled back towards a nearby desk. When his lower back hit the harsh edge, Grantaire broke the kiss and hoisted himself on it, welcoming Enjolras between his arms.

"Do we have time?" He muttered against his lips.

Enjolras distractedly checked his watch, eliciting a laugh from Grantaire when he had to repeat the action twice.

"We'll make time," Enjolras said before shrugging his jacket off and pulling him in by his hips.

* * *

" _We'll make time_ , he said," Grantaire murmured, running a hand over his face as he drove. "And so it was, the best man was late at the wedding."

"Turn left." Added Enjolras. "No, wait, turn right."

"Jesus, angel, it's an online map. Can't you read those, at least?"

"Shut up and drive." He replied. "And, for the record, it's not my fault _someone_ pulled my hair and made all the flowers fall off."

"It's not my fault _someone_ liked having their hair pulled so much," Grantaire said around a smile, earning a swat to his arm.

"If somebody asks, I'm telling the truth."

"You know what, do it. Why _don't_ you tell all your friends about how I'm such a good kisser that you completely forgot about Jehan's hard work and your own sister's wedding?"

Enjolras groaned and hid his flushed face in his hands. "Just drive and shut up."

"Make me."

"I would if you weren't driving and if we weren't late."

A few moments later, Grantaire was stilling the car in the venue parking lot. "I'm not driving, and we're here. Now shut me up."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"You love it."

Enjolras swatted his arm and pecked his lips. "Don't get too cocky. Let's go."

In a few minutes, they were rushing into one of the rooms, greeted by Combeferre.

"What took you both so long?" Before they could answer, his gaze fell onto their jackets. "Swapped colors, I see?"

Panic filled them both as they looked at each other's pocket squares.

"Enjolras, what the hell have you done to your braids?" The realization dawned on Combeferre as his mouth opened slightly. "I'm going to give you thirty seconds to change your jackets and come up with a good lie for Jehan to convince them to fix your hair." He hugged them both, smiling wide. "God, I love you. You just won me twenty dollars." He turned and started walking away before speaking over his shoulder.

"Your speech better not make me cry, Grantaire, you have no idea how long the eyeliner took. I'll hunt you down and kill you if it gets smudged because of you and your pretty words."

As soon as he walked away, Grantaire and Enjolras quickly shrugged their jackets off, swapping them for the right one, breathlessly laughing. Enjolras stared at Grantaire for a few moments, his face flushed and eyes glistened with how hard he laughed, and he couldn't stop himself from grabbing his face, pecking his lips before placing his forehead on his.

"You're disgustingly happy." Grantaire said, smiling bright enough to light up the room.

"Guess whose fault that is."

Before Grantaire could capture his lips, the noise of steps from the hallway made them pull away, and in a few seconds, Jehan emerged from around the corner.

"Good God, Enjolras, what have you done to my masterpiece?"

Enjolras muttered something about the wind before Jehan got to work, hands quickly moving over the strands of hair. After a few moments of silence, Jehan stopped abruptly.

"We're missing a flower. Enjolras, do you have the missing flower?"

Enjolras furrowed his brow and stuffed his hands in his pockets, shaking his head minutely. Grantaire subtly did the same, softly groaning when he felt an unmistakable softness against his fingers.

"Fuck. Hey, angel?"

"Just give me the fucking flower," Enjolras grumbled, forcing back a smile. Jehan stared at the both of them in confusion as they took the flower.

"Why did he have your flower?"

"Three, two, one..." said Grantaire, intently not looking at them, pointing a finger in their direction as the realization dawned on them.

" _That_ 's why Combeferre was so happy? I hate you both so much. Couldn't you keep it in your pants for a few more hours?" They groaned in frustration and pulled on Enjolras' hair a bit too harshly, making him yelp.

"No, you don't get to yelp. You deserve this." They let go of his hair and stomped away, throwing their middle finger over their shoulder when Grantaire called out an apology and a love declaration.

Grantaire smiled as Enjolras entwined their hands together, nodding comfortingly.

"Let's go see my sister and your best friend get married." He said. "Make sure to make Ferre cry."

"If Courfeyrac pushes you in the crowd to catch the bouquet, I'm round kicking him."

Enjolras laughed, eyes crinkling and making Grantaire weak in the knees.

"Do you think Cosette will be mad if we steal the spotlight at her wedding?"

"Oh, it’s not Cosette you should worry about, angel." He grinned. "Eponine will murder us both. She'll enjoy the fuck out of it, too. She'll make it slow and satisfying."

"We could just tell everyone in a few days?"

"Angel. Baby. Do you seriously think Combeferre hasn’t told Courfeyrac?"

"He definitely has."

"Which means even the Pope knows by now."

Enjolras laughs. "Well, we can just die together, I guess."

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Will you permit it?"

"Definitely. You can hold my hand, I'll raise the flag of love as Eponine shoots us."

"You think she can take us both with one shot?"

"I once saw her knock down two perverts at the bar with one kick. She could take us both with a single shot while drinking tea."

Feuilly cleared his throat, peeking from the corner with a glare. "Alright, that's enough, you two. It's not _your_ wedding. Get ready or we'll tell the brides."

"Wait, they don't know yet?" Enjolras asked.

"No. We managed to keep it from them but I will if you don't hurry up."

"Feuilly, they'll kill us." Grantaire warned him.

"Precisely why I'll tell them if you two sit around for one more minute." Feuilly quickly turned around and left.

They both laughed and started walking towards the small chapel. "Think you can manage to keep your hands to yourself for just a few more hours, angel?" Said Grantaire.

"Very funny, Taire. Cherish this very moment, because it'll be like you're invisible for the rest of the night. Just you wait."

Once everything was set, they quickly strode to their places as the ceremony started.

Enjolras had tried keeping it together, but seeing his little sister walk the aisle, dressed in white with pearls and small flowers tangled in her blonde curls, smiling so brightly that the sun paled, well, he couldn't stop the tears from pooling in his eyes.

Grantaire's hands were trembling as he fidgeted with the sleeves of his jacket the moment he saw his best friend enter the venue. He had seen her dress before, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking how beautiful, graceful, and breathtaking she looked. He chewed on his lower lip as he took deep breaths, trying not to cry - yet, at least. 

There was not a single dry eye as the vows were exchanged, and yet there was not a single guest willing to admit it- except perhaps Valjean, who had been openly sobbing throughout the entire ceremony. Even stoic little Gavroche had started crying halfway through Cosette’s vows, and if anyone tried to remind him that he had heard Cosette rehearse the speech with him about a dozen times, he would most _definitely_ bite them.

Everything went perfectly, and when the couple shared their first kiss, officially wed, the room exploded in a mess of loud cheers and applause, and no one was able nor willing to contain the pure, unabashed joy that overtook the whole room.

When the reception started, Enjolras had been set on being true to his promise and had attempted to ignore Grantaire. Only that, when Grantaire started his speech, he could feel the embarrassingly fond smile spreading across his face. Not even Combeferre’s loud sobs and wails could make him turn his gaze from the man as he stood, a glass of champagne in his hand, and pure admiration for his friend in his eyes.

As the food came and the music started playing, it only took two glasses of wine to convince Enjolras that slow dancing with Grantaire was an amazing idea. Ask about it in the morning, he’ll deny tooth and nail that it was his idea, blaming Courfeyrac also for the choice of song. Truthfully, anyone could have expected that, as the soft notes of Elvis started filling the room, Enjolras would quickly rise to his feet, dragging Grantaire away from his conversation with Joly and to the dance floor.

If anyone asks Grantaire if the shoe Cosette threw at them when they inevitably stole the spotlight worth the dance, he’ll say that having Enjolras put his head on his shoulder like that, their bodies flushed together and swaying to the music as Enjolras softly sang would be worth much more than a twelve-inch heel hitting his back.

And if someone asks Cosette and Eponine why they threw their bouquets in Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s direction, well, they’ll say it was about time the two of them got their act together, even if it entailed - gladly - paying the price of sharing the spotlight at their big night.

The center of attention isn’t that appealing, anyway, not when your brother and best friend are dancing like the world is fading away.

**Author's Note:**

> Well! This is it. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Constructive criticism is more than welcome, and, if you liked this, check out my other Les Mis works.
> 
> I have a whole bunch of wips, so I'll definitely see y'all again soon.
> 
> To next time, thank you again!


End file.
